This is a (Phonetic) Feeling

Halos show through blindness, then knowing: a chapter called How (come) Howl come Oh,Well (willing the days, the hours come out, are clung to) become the arch you unbuckled to make up a kind of toward or (our) skeletal (watch) tower, how I got over

I can tell (like reporting, or purposed grapes spinning their tenuous ladder) from your salty eloquence, that you've been drinking, from some local sea (she), sheets made of unreasonably soft controversy) and every caprice is a caption about tattered wings, taglining (tingling), dispatching, and how you can

too fly. Your disease is trying, stop trying. Ours is easy, see
-easy (you're a sleaze, I'm a lady, and on savior days we alternate. I'm an easel, you're my one-and-only drawing blue to greed, palate--

Briefest color shade: perspective without expectation. Grace, the great race, takes a loose but no less tense tone, this is-- a fling (ownly), you two, both of you, fast and black and certain to disappear on any (only) morning, this morning

I can see, everything, with my eyes closed to the phoneme hope, (moaners, screamers) each phony apogee apologetic for its absence, so from now on nobody can be discrete if I can't so I can, I can. I'm the earth's ventriloquist. Hip enough to the conversation to lift the numb emblem into a body, then blame it--- punish it, for having a soul I can't see without you

One if buy..
(black maybe)
Two ifs buy..
(or maybe I'm just
what you say




Joy is.




Sorrow unmasked.